


two halves of one heart.

by katarama



Series: leave this blue neighborhood. [12]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Day Off, Flashbacks, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Draft, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: Kent will always be one impulse away from kissing Jack in a public park under the shade of the tree, one snarky comment away from being too transparently fond.  Kent has never been wholly soft, and never will be.  But he will always be too present in himself and his body and his feelings when he’s next to Jack, too aware of the way his heart trips when Jack smiles just for him.





	two halves of one heart.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  **If you're new to this series, start[HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10586022).**

**August 2008**

 

 

“Yo, Zimms, bring it in,” Kent says.  

Jack skates over lazily, not too worn down after their morning workout.  They’re technically there for an optional practice, but it’s only called that to give Jack and Kent an excuse to be there and have some time on the ice.  The rink is empty besides the two of them, neither actually bothering to put on any of their gear besides their skates and their gloves.  

Technically, there isn’t even a full team to speak of yet, with the new recruits just filtering into town.  Kent only moved back in with his billet family a week or so ago, after part of the summer back home and the rest of it at a camp with Jack.  Jack and Kent just got their brand new jerseys with their brand new As and their shiny new official keys to the rink (with an all too knowing look from the coach that tells them both that he knew about every single technically illegal late night of sneaking back in for extra practice with someone else’s keys).

“You wanna call it a day?” Kent asks.  It’s still warm out, the very last moments of summer sliding into early fall.  School hasn’t started yet and hockey hasn’t started yet, at least not in earnest.  Hockey never really ends for either of them.  But it’s one of the few gorgeous days this time of year, with a soft breeze blowing and the sun’s rays warm without melting Kent.  It’s the kind of day where there’s no excuse to be cooped up in an ice-cold hockey rink, not even for Jack Zimmermann.  

Jack still checks the clock, bites his lip.  Like he’s seriously considering staying there for another hour or whatever.

Kent rolls his eyes.

“We’ll come back here tomorrow,” he says, skating over to Jack.  He takes his gloves off and holds out his hand to Jack.  “You can do some extra squats tonight if you’re all that worried your hockey butt won’t survive another day.”

Jack snorts, but his face softens, and he takes one glove off to put his hand in Kent’s.  “I don’t do squats because I care about my hockey butt,” he says as he lets Kent tug him back towards the side of the rink.  

“Well, _I_  care about your hockey butt,” Kent jokes, “and I think you should give your hockey butt a break.  From skating, at least.  No promises about other butt-related stuff.  I know a really good workout for butts and thighs and-”

“Just stop while you’re ahead,” Jack says, and Kent laughs, the sound echoing throughout the empty rink.  Kent speeds up in retaliation, dragging Jack along by their held hands and linked fingers until Jack decides to catch up, breezing past Kent and nearly tipping them both when he stops Kent at the wall to place a quick kiss on Kent’s lips.

“We should do something fun today,” Kent says softly.  “Just the two of us.”

“Sure,” Jack says easily.  Kent leans in and kisses him this time, longer and deeper, pressing Jack gently back against the wall and drawing a quiet, pleased noise out of Jack before he finally pulls away.

“Not at the rink,” Jack says, with no heat behind it.  Jack knows just as well as Kent that Kent understands when to be careful, and until right before the first game, pre-season Jack is always less tense about it, anyway.  More relaxed.  Carrying less weight on his shoulders.

“Come on,” Kent says, his stomach warm at the way Jack’s mouth curls into a smile.  “I’m craving a slushie, and it’s your turn to pay.  We can share straws and everything.”

“How romantic,” Jack says dryly.

Kent’s laugh lights up the rink all over again.

* * *

 

One of Kent’s favorite things about Jack is that his idea of doing something fun is so wildly different from most of Kent’s friends.  Jack drives them to the gas station to get a slushie and tosses out places they could go, and after the third museum he names, Kent has to stop him again.

“We could go to the movies, if you’re hellbent on being inside?” Kent suggests.  “Or we could go to a park or something.  Sit together and enjoy the sun.”

“You mean dodge the birds and watch you burn,” Jack replies.

“Like you won’t burn just as bad,” Kent says, because Jack always acts like he isn’t a pale-ass Canadian who burns at the first signs of sun.  “Besides, I don’t burn, I _freckle_.”

“You burn and you peel,” Jack says, but he dutifully fiddles with his GPS.  “We’re finding some shade,” he says, an acceptable truce, “and I’m reading my book.”

“Fine,” Kent says, because he knows Jack better than that.  

He knows Jack will start out reading the book, sitting up in the shade so he isn’t tangled up in Kent’s limby mess.  But it won’t end that way.  Kent will get bored and get curious, and he’ll start asking questions, and before too long, Jack will be doing more talking than reading, leaning back and then lying down next to Kent, the book forgotten on the ground next to them.  Kent won’t tease him for it, enjoying listening to the soothing sound of the trees rustling in the breeze and Jack speaking in the quiet, serious voice he reserves for the things he cares about, the voice Kent thinks Jack taught himself to soften and subdue because he was used to no one else listening, or caring.

Kent keeps finding a lot more things that he cares about these days that he didn’t before.  But it’s hard not to care when Jack’s eyes light up and he gets so into it that he’s using his hands to talk as much as his voice.  Jack’s floppy boy band haircut blows in the breeze, and Kent gently brushes it away from his eyes, watching the way Jack’s cheeks pink but telling him to keep talking, encouraging him.

When Jack has run out of words to say, they’ll spend the rest of the afternoon on the blanket from the back of Jack’s car and they’ll watch the way the clouds peek through the leaves of the trees.  They’ll probably end up defaulting to talking about hockey at some point, because they’re both kind of predictable and boring that way, but Kent will always be one second away from reaching out and grabbing Jack’s hand.

He’ll be one impulse away from kissing Jack in a public park under the shade of the tree, one snarky comment away from being too transparently fond.  Kent has never been wholly soft, and never will be.  But he will always be too present in himself and his body and his feelings when he’s next to Jack, too aware of the way his heart trips when Jack smiles just for him.  Too aware of the way words that are entirely too much bubble up in his throat when he lies next to Jack, or when Jack is sweaty and fucked-out and soft, and naked, Jack’s eyes half-lidded and his body loose and relaxed in a way Kent thinks that no one but him has ever achieved.

It’s all too much.  More often than not, after the fact, it scares the shit out of him.  Kent is barely 18 years old, barely legally an adult.  He’s got a whole life ahead of him.  If he doesn’t fuck it up, a whole life of playing professional hockey, of constantly traveling and seeing new places and meeting new people.  

He knows he shouldn’t be making important life decisions before he even knows what city he’ll be living in next year, especially when he knows that Jack will almost undoubtedly be living in a totally different city.  He knows he shouldn’t be making wild promises, even though he wants to, and he knows he shouldn’t be dreaming big.  He knows he shouldn’t start forming a future around a boy he got too close to when he was a fresh faced 16-year-old kid.

So he holds his tongue and he keeps his words buried inside where they belong.  He isn’t perfect.  He’s far from it.  He’s greedy and eager, loves too hard and doesn’t know how to let go.  But he lets himself have quiet moments of doing nothing with his best friend.  He lets himself have stealthy kisses on an empty ice rink.  He lets himself have the moments tucked away in Jack’s room, Jack gasping under him as Kent holds down his hips and whispers quiet praise in Jack’s ear, Jack’s wrists tied together with knots Kent practiced in private until they were perfect.  

Kent lets himself have this, because he has never been good at denying himself the things he wanted.  That was always Jack’s thing.  And Jack seems just as wrapped up in this as Kent is, just as willing to waste an afternoon he’d usually spend playing hockey out at a park doing nothing but getting bit up by mosquitos and talking and sharing a slushie with Kent.  Kent should probably feel bad, because he knows he’s a terrible influence.  

But no one can ignore the way Kent makes Jack breathe easier, play sharper.  No one can ignore the way Jack looks faster and steadier and stronger with Kent on his other wing.  

No one can ignore the way Jack looks relaxed and at ease with Kent’s arm draped over his shoulder or with Kent’s ass in Jack’s lap.  And no one can ignore the way that Kent makes Jack come out of his shell, makes him smile more.  

It’s deeply gratifying, for Kent, to make someone happy.  To make someone feel good.  To make _Jack_  feel good.  It’s hard not to want that, not just for now, for two years when they’re teenagers in love for the first time, but for the rest of his life.

When they both finally sit up and pack up the blanket, Kent’s throat is dry, and he’s happy and warm and sleepy.  Jack’s stomach is loud and rumbly, which is as much of a signal that it’s time to head out as anything.

“We should get chicken tenders,” Kent says, because they aren’t his favorite, but they are Jack’s, and because he’s soft and happy and warm today.

Jack’s answering smile makes it worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com).


End file.
